Hourglass
by Leonora Perrault
Summary: After their latest betrayal, Rogue assumed she was done with Mystique, done with Irene, and done being used in their far-reaching schemes... she couldn't have been more wrong. ROMY.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello all! This is the sequel to Eluding Destiny, so a quick recap for those of you who are new (or have forgotten what's going on): Rogue absorbed Carol due to Mystique's interpretation of Irene Adler's diaries. Remy helped to bring her home, and is staying at the Institute, at least temporarily. The X-men are in possesion of three of the thirteen diaries, but the three they have fortell of a rather ominous future...

Also, your French translations:

_chère, chèrie -_ dear, darling

_bonsoir -_ good evening

_fumée -_ smoke

Chapter One

Change is the constant, the signal for rebirth, the egg of the phoenix.

~ Christina Baldwin

The fire. The phoenix. The girl. Again and again and again. Professor Charles Xavier poured over the pages of Irene Adler's diary, scanning the foreign languages and encrypted messages that covered its yellowed pages. The words themselves were a mystery – meaningless jumbles of information. The pictures, though, he recognized far too easily.

The fire and the phoenix were clouded memories from his time under Apocalypse's control. They were images of a future too horrible to imagine, where his students – his children – were attacked from the inside, by someone they loved and trusted... one of their own.

The pictures of the girl were more painful yet. He knew her, and loved like a daughter. She could not be the raging woman in the pictures, not when he could remember her as a little thing with pigtails and bubble gum.

He closed the book and set it carefully on the edge of his desk. It was the knowing, he decided, that was the worst. It was having the future in your hands without having the power to change it.

A presence tickled the edge of his consciousness. "Please come in, Ororo."

The young woman let herself in, smiling gently. "Good afternoon, Charles." She glanced at the book on his desk. "Have you been at that all day?"

"Close to it." He checked the clock on the wall behind him. It was just past three. The students would be home soon, thrumming with energy now that summer was only a few short days away. "Ororo?"

"Hmm?" She took a half-empty mug of water off his desk and poured it gently over the hibiscus in the corner.

"Would you mind running the younger students through training tonight? I've neglected to assign them any, with Logan gone, but given the events of the last few days..." he trailed off, shaking his head as a smile tugged at his lips. "I feel it would be prudent to let them burn off some excess energy."

"My greenhouse will never be the same after what happened yesterday," Ororo sighed good-naturedly, propping a hand on her hip. "Who would have thought I would have to fireproof my plants? And no, I don't mind. Just the younger ones?"

"Yes." He found himself distracted, thinking of Scott and Jean and the others whose faces appeared constantly in Destiny's diaries.

"You know, maybe you should come down and eat something. It would do you good to get away from those books."

"You don't trust them."

"I don't trust any person who says that the future is set in stone. And," she added coolly, "I also don't trust Mystique." Ororo folded her arms, her gaze hardening. It was the same uneasiness he had seen in her eyes as a pickpocket in Cairo. He had learned long ago to trust her judgment when she wore that particular expression.

"Mystique's credibility – and Destiny's, for that matter – are some of the many factors that need to be considered in this mess," he sighed. "Shall we go to the kitchen? I can work on the diaries more tonight."

Ororo closed the door behind them and walked next to him down the hall. "We should make sure the restaurant has our reservations set for Saturday. And," she continued, "the principal of the high school called late last night, while we were out. He'd like to remind us to keep an eye on our students. We should probably check to make sure Rogue's transcript is set. After what happened with Jean and Scott's graduation... well, I wouldn't put it past the school board to try and keep her from graduating."

He nodded slowly. "It would be best to look into that." They entered the sunny kitchen as the phone began to ring. "Would you get that, my dear? It's Logan."

"What would we do without you?"

"Get caller I.D.," he smiled.

Ororo laughed and made her way around the island to grab the phone. "Why hello, Logan. So nice of you to check in."

"Hardy-har, 'Ro. Charles let you know who was callin'?"

"Naturally. Are you coming home soon? Rogue was asking about you," she told him, tucking the phone against her shoulder as she wandered into the foyer. "She thinks you're going to miss her graduation."

He laughed shortly. "You can tell her I'll be there. She still hangin' out with Gambit?"

"Logan." Her voice was a gentle warning. "Let it be. I was a teenage girl once, you know. I've seen the way she looks at him. Let her have this. Besides, I thought you didn't mind their friendship."

"I thought she'd come to her senses. And I've been that guy, 'Ro. I know what he's thinkin' when he looks at her . He's trouble," he snarled, and she could practically see his scowl.

"He helped us," she reminded him.

"After he fought against us," he countered. Changing the subject he asked, "Has she been havin' nightmares still?"

There was a rough edge to his voice that she rarely heard. She let the argument drop. Doubtless it would come up again when he came back home to find the two Southerners friendlier than when he left. "Never as bad as in April. They were worse a couple weeks ago, but I've been checking on her since then, and her meetings with Charles have been going well. Lately she's been sleeping fairly soundly."

"Good," he said gruffly. "It was messin' with her training."

Ororo chuckled quietly, creating a dense cloud over the potted fern. It rained briefly and dissipated with a wave of her hand. "It's sweet that you care so much about her, Logan. She'll be very happy when you're back."

"Don't turn this mushy, weather witch."

"I wouldn't dream of it. See you in a few days?"

"Yep." He hung up without another word. Ororo went back to the kitchen to find her mentor lost in thought, staring out over the Institute grounds. She placed the phone back in its cradle and touched him lightly on the shoulder.

"Charles? Everything all right?"

He turned to her slowly, his eyes clouded with worry. "I can't help thinking we're not doing enough," he said softly.

"You mean about Destiny's prophecies?"

He nodded, tenting his fingers. "If what she saw is correct..." he trailed off, pained. "There is too much at stake."

Ororo squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. "There's always tomorrow to work on the Diaries," she said gently, sensing the direction of his thoughts. "Even by Hank's best estimates, we have plenty time."

Charles nodded again, but stayed silent.

XxXxXxX

The second hand of the clock was moving so slowly Rogue was sure she saw it pause and twitch backwards. A quick glance around the room told her there were only a few students left finishing their exams... but silence would reign until the last pencil dropped. She cradled her chin in one hand, staring absently at the board around the white strands of hair that always fell in front of her eyes. Usually it was filled with French verbs and scribbled out phrases, but today – the one day she wouldn't have minded having something to look at – it was blank, with smudges of eraser dust marking where the words had been.

One minute. She resisted the urge to count down in her head. Kurt was tapping his feet against the back of her desk, roughly in time with the clock. Every few seconds he missed a beat. She gritted her teeth and looked out the window, taking in the bright afternoon sun and the cloudless sky. The sight of it was enough to help her relax. It would be a perfect afternoon for flying.

The bell began to trill, and all around whoops and groans filled the air. The stragglers turned in their tests, shrugging in defeat. Rogue straightened and slung her bag over one shoulder, waiting for the mass of people to leave the room. Kurt waited with her, leaning against an empty desk.

"Vhat did you think? Piece of cake?"

She shrugged. "Not quite. Easier than Ah thought it would be, though."

"Vell, vith all the time you spend vith Gambit..." Kurt trailed off suggestively as they slipped into the crowded, noisy hallway.

"What in the world are yah talkin' about?" Her voice took on a dangerous edge as they approached their lockers. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but it was hard when talking about Remy with Kurt was so... uncomfortable. She couldn't put a finger on what it was exactly, but whenever the former Acolyte entered their conversations, things went downhill quickly.

"Nothing," Kurt said quickly, "I just meant you must have picked up some French, because of how much he speaks it around you." He raked a hand through his hair, looking uneasy. "I didn't mean anything, Rogue."

"It's fahne," she said shortly. They both knew it wasn't. She switched out two notebooks for a hefty textbook and glared contemplatively at the inside of her locker. "What hours are testin' tomorrow?"

Kurt grimaced. "Five, six, and seven. Mostly sciences, math, and languages. You have Chem, right? I talked vith Sam today – apparently it's impossible."

Rogue shrugged and slammed her locker shut. "No point in studyin', then."

Kurt looked doubtful. "If you say so."

"Miss Darkholme!" Principal Kelly's voice rang out over the throng of students. Rogue winced. _He betta not mean me_. She looked over her shoulder. The principal narrowed his eyes and motioned for her to follow him. _Mah last name is _not_ Darkholme_.

"Aw, crap."

"Vhat does Kelly vant?"

"Mah head on a platter." Rogue tugged at her gloves, scowling fiercely. Kurt had to force back a smile. Kelly had no idea what he was up against. When Rogue looked like that... trouble tended to follow.

"Should I get Kitty to vait for you? She's staying after school for a few minutes to vait for Ray and Roberto anyvay."

"Nah." She started making her way through the crowd. Over her shoulder she added, "Ah'll get mahself home before dinner. Just tell Storm and the Professor where Ah was, okay?"

Kurt lifted a hand and turned, disappearing almost immediately into the mass of students. Rogue made her way over to Principal Kelly. His gaze turned flinty as soon as they were close enough to make eye contact.

"Come with me." Rogue reluctantly followed him to his office. Whenever Kelly wanted to speak with any of the Institute kids, it was never a good thing.

"Sit down, Rogue." She plopped unceremoniously into one of the chairs facing his desk. Kelly fiddled with his thick-rimmed glasses, polishing them and putting them on, and then taking them off to polish them again. The silence was deafening. Rogue fidgeted and ran her fingers through her hair. Even months later, sliding her fingers through the short bob still gave her chills. She couldn't wait for it to grow back out.

"As you know, your graduation is this Saturday," he said finally. She lifted an eyebrow. He cleared his throat and continued, "And as we've stated in years past, Bayville High will not tolerate _any_ misbehavior from its mutant students." Here his voice firmed, warming up to a subject he knew well. "I'd like to make sure this is very clear to you: We will not have the ceremony disturbed for those who actually have earned the right to be there. We have been given permission from the board to remove you from the ceremony if _any_ of your peers cause problems during commencement."

Rogue felt her jaw drop furiously. Before she could sputter out anything, Kelly added, "And if you remember correctly, last year it was you who couldn't keep your... powers... under control." He let the words drop disdainfully into the silence. It was a warning. "I'd like you to keep that in mind if you want to have a place at the ceremony. Otherwise, the school board would be more than happy to mail you your diploma."

Rogue glared, curling her fingers into tight fists. She counted to ten and breathed in slowly through her nose. There was nothing she could do, she reminded herself. It didn't make his words sting any less. "Ah'll be sure ta keep that in mind."

Kelly nodded to the door. "You're free to go, then. I wouldn't want you missing out on all that studying you're sure to be doing. It would be such a shame for a... talented... student like yourself to do poorly on tomorrow's exams."

Rogue smiled thinly and rose. "That would be a cryin' shame, wouldn't it?"

She shut his door carefully behind her on the way out. She made it down the deserted hallway and out the double doors before she slammed a fist into the brick wall. Like so many other things, it crumbled at her touch.

XxXxXxX

Remy glanced at Rogue from where he was sprawled out on her bed. She was humming to herself, typically a good thing. At the moment, though, she was punctuating every few notes by hurling make-up cases into the trash can.

He winced at a particularly loud clatter and propped himself on his elbows. "Is destroyin' your make-up really helpin' anything?"

There was an explosion of shimmery powder. "Yep."

"Is what Kelly said still botherin' y'?" he asked, stretching to get the kinks out of his back. His left leg throbbed, and he shot it a disgusted look. _Shut up an' heal already_, he thought testily. Did James Bond need crutches? No. Jason Bourne? _Absolument__ pas._ The whole situation was deeply insulting.

Something shattered noisily, and a light, floral sort of smell permeated the air. Roses, maybe. "_Chèrie_?" he tried again.

Rogue shrugged unhappily, whirling to face him. Dressed in her workout pants and a Giants sweatshirt (he made a mental note to rid her of that as soon as possible) she was still a sight when she was angry. Not that now was the right time to mention it, he thought wryly. Rogue didn't take compliments well, period. Flirting with her when she was already riled up was downright dangerous.

She stalked over to the bed and collapsed on the end of it. Her eyes fluttered closed, revealing purple eye shadow and thick, dark lines of eyeliner. "Ah was expectin' the lecture, really Ah was. Ah mean, he did the same thing ta Jean and Scott, and they were perfect." She heaved a sigh and gestured helplessly. "It was just the _way_ he talked ta me, yah know? Like because of what Ah am, Ah don't even deserve ta graduate, let alone graduate with everyone else. It sucked."

"Sorry _chère_. At least it'll be over after dis weekend." He reached over to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Rogue's eyes flew open and she held perfectly still.

"Remy..." His name hissed out on the tail end of a breath. "Careful. Please."

"Never," he grinned. He finished playing with her hair and let his hand fall back on his stomach. "Bein' careful ain' any fun. Y' should know dat." He winked and added suggestively, "What wit' your bad-girl past an' all."

She began to laugh, shaking her head. "Remy LeBeau, how do yah even come up with stuff like that?"

"Part o' my charm."

She arched an eyebrow, a talent he was a little jealous of. "Ah'm sure."

"Hey guys?" Kitty slid through the solid oak door as if it didn't exist. Remy scrubbed a hand across his face and focused on re-starting his heart. Even after three months under the mansion's expansive roof, it was hard to remember that normal at Xavier's Institute was not... well, normal at all.

"_Bonsoir_, Kitty."

"What's up?" Rogue shifted so she was sitting cross-legged and rested her elbows on her knees. "Ah thought you were on KP tonight."

Kitty winced and glanced between the two Southerners guiltily. "Yeah... so remember how you guys tried to show me how to make fried chicken? It, like, didn't completely work all the way. Something went bad somewhere between the breading and the cooking part. And... now the chicken is stuck to the pan and there's like, smoke and stuff."

"_Fumée_?"

Rogue shrugged. "Trust me, it's betta not ta ask," she said in undertone. To Kitty she asked, "Yah want help fixin' it?"

Kitty nodded and grinned sheepishly. "That'd be great. Thanks guys."

When they arrived in the kitchen, it was clear Kitty hadn't been exaggerating. A blue haze of smoke hung over the kitchen while a perplexed-looking Iceman fanned it away from the fire detectors. Remy grinned and began to help Bobby with the clean-up while Rogue started guiding her roommate through a second batch.

If time could stand still, it did while he was scrubbing burnt-on chicken off the pan. It was the feeling that stopped him – the comfort and ease he had only ever associated with one place. _Since when does Xavier's school feel like home?_ His thoughts slowed and stopped, leaving his mind blank but his heart racing. He didn't have an answer.

"Remy?"

He shook himself out of his thoughts and chased them away by focusing on the girl in front of him. Rogue smiled hesitantly, her hair falling in front of her eyes and a hand held out as if to touch his arm. She did that a lot, he'd noticed. Almost touches that stopped inches short of actual contact. He wondered how long it had taken for that to become second nature. Less than a split second later he found himself wondering how long it would take to break the habit.

"Lost in thought?" Her smile turned teasing.

"More or less," he admitted. "Whatcha need?"

"The pan and the bowls. Are yah done with 'em yet?"

He flicked soapy water at her and grinned when she let out a shriek of surprise. "Nope. Wanna help? Four hands are betta dan two."

Rogue rolled her eyes and tucked her gloves into her pocket. Her rings – one on her thumb, one on her middle finger – glinted in the light. "All yah had ta do was ask."

XxXxXxX

Jean clipped her hair into a loose bun and used her fingers to pull a few strands down to frame her face. Even under the warm glow of the lamplight, her expression looked pale and drawn.

"That's what you get when you don't sleep," she scolded her reflection, smearing concealer underneath her eyes. The bruise-colored half-circles slowly disappeared until they were just barely visible. She carefully applied another coat of mascara.

_What if Ah hurt someone? Ah hate dinner, too many people too close together. Gloves scarf gloves sleeves gloves careful careful careful_. Rogue's thoughts hit her like someone had slapped her across the face. They were sharp and frightened, underlined with compassion and fierce protectiveness. Her first instinct was to panic – she should not have been hearing Rogue's thoughts – but Jean massaged her temples, carefully setting up the mental blocks she had spent years perfecting. Rogue projected a lot, she reminded herself. She dropped her hands and began to place tubes of make-up back in their cases.

_Can't believe Rogue is graduating so jealous can't believe I have another year oh well at least Kurt is in the same boat. Love those shoes they would go so great with that dress. Have enough money? Maybe. _

Her hands traveled instinctively to her head. This was not good. Not right. She tried to remember what Professor Xavier always said. Be calm. Concentrate. She tried to focus, to relax and pull up the blocks that kept her mind seperate from everyone else's.

_Dude how come everyone else gets to go and we're stuck here like little kids that sucks we're totally old enough to go what do they think we are, babies? I think I failed that English final I hate writing._

_I can't believe he doesn't know I like him. I mean, it's not like I'm hiding anything. Maybe he just doesn't like me. Not good enough not good enough not good enough. _

_If only I knew what she was thinking – feeling, even – when she wrote the entries... they're too close to the future Apocalypse knows. I can't lose my students to this I can't. Won't. _

"Stop!" Her voice exploded out of her. Something crashed. Jean realized she was gasping for air, clutching at her head. She let her hands fall and realized they were trembling. The lamp was gone. She stumbled to the wall and flicked on a different light, revealing the shattered pieces that lay on the floor.

Jean stared at them for the longest time. It was like trying to see a picture that wasn't quite there – no matter how she tilted her head, it wouldn't ever completely appear. She was so absorbed in seeing the not-picture that she didn't hear someone knocking on her door.

"Jean?" Scott was peeked around the door. "Everything all right in here? I have the car ready to go." _She looks so tired maybe tonight's not the best night to go out. We haven't been on a date since what, May? Is that my fault? Probably, been so busy_.

She telekinetically swept the broken shards of glass out of sight and smiled, walking into his warm, familiar embrace. "Don't worry about it. Everything is just fine."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Wow. It's been forever, and I'm sorry. Long story short: computer crash, family crisis, personal injury, and AP testing - not that I'm making excuses ;) The next chapters are pretty much done, but as I lost a lot of my work, time between updates will be longer than I'd like... but with any luck not quite as long as this one. Thanks for being patient, and on with show!

French to English:

_celle-ci _- this one

_mais oui _- of course

_je sais_ - I know

Chapter Two

A friend should be a master at guessing and keeping still: you must not want to see everything.

~Friedrich Nietzsche

Rogue didn't like being inside her own head. She'd forgotten how much, until she started sessions with the Professor. Her mind was too full, exploding with feelings and memories that didn't belong to her. Even more than being there, she hated coming back – it left her feeling empty and detached from reality.

Today her mindscape was a rain-tormented flatland, dark and dismal. She could have changed it if she wanted to, but it suited the mood she was in – a rather obtuse combination of sullen and contrary.

"Rogue, please try to focus," Professor Xavier said quietly. He was not with her. Today she was alone, allowing him to slow the rush when it got to be too much. There wasn't much he could do to stop the confusion. "This is your mind, not mine. Control it."

Despite the Professor's gentle assurances, Rogue's control over her mind seemed to begin and end with changing the landscape – and even that wasn't always intentional. She toned down the force of her scowl and turned to face Carol. Even under a churning mass of clouds, her hair gleamed white and her eyes seemed overly bright. Her pupils were pinpoints, giving her the panicked, desperate expression of a drowning woman. It was the way she always looked in Rogue's mind, surreal and dangerous.

"Yah ready?" There was no need for inflection here – the words carried without any effort, the intended tone tangible in the air, if you could call it that.

Carol sighed and held out a long-fingered hand. Despite her startled eyes, she looked impossibly tired. "Sure."

Rogue wrapped her fingers more tightly around Carol's and tried to concentrate. She drew up the memories carefully, trying to push them through her fingertips without actually seeing them. When she did it right, which wasn't very often, it felt like the opposite of absorbing someone. There would be a lightness, and the faintest rush of pure silence.

Today she wasn't doing it right. The images tore through her fingers, familiar and foreign all at once. It felt like she was absorbing the other girl all over again. _Ah'm sorry Carol_. She tried again, holding on until the memories tangled with her own thoughts. She couldn't tell them apart, her memories or Carol's or anyone else's. The force of them _hurt_.

Rogue's eyes flew open and the rush faded to a quiet murmur. There was the faintest pressure at her temples. She could almost feel Carol slipping away, walling herself off with what was left of her old life.

"You're doing better," the Professor assured her, his hands retreating to his lap.

She made an impatient noise, leaning heavily into the chair. "Not today Ah'm not," she said ruefully. "Sorry, Professor. Ah'll do betta tomorrow."

He smiled gently. "Rogue, for someone faced with the obstacles that you are, you're doing marvelously. Do not belittle your progress. It's above and beyond what I would ask of any student your age, if it weren't necessary." He paused and went around to the other side of his desk to write something down. "How are you feeling?"

"Like Ah do after a trainin' session on Logan's bad days."

"Mentally," he prompted.

Rogue shrugged and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Ah don't know... Ah was tryin' to sort out some of Carol's memories, like yah told me to." She closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose, searching. "Ah think there's less of it, if that makes any sense."

"That's certainly a good sign," he said, quickly writing something down and then tucking it into a folder. "The sooner we can channel Carol's memories back into her mind, the better off both of you will be. Once we have a more definite separation of your psyches... then hopefully we can work on integrating Carol back into her own body."

She tamped down on the wild surge of hope before it could take flight. "Professor? Ah thought you said that wasn't possible."

He offered her a quiet, pleased smile. "I've been talking with one of my colleagues from the U.K. She believes with careful planning it would be quite possible for us to return Carol to her own body."

"Really?" The word fell from her lips almost unconsciously.

"Yes. Dr. MacTaggert has several telepathic associates that would be willing to help." He frowned, getting lost in thought. "It's certainly an option to consider."

Rogue stood, crossing her arms. There was something in his expression that both thrilled and frightened her. "So it's dangerous then?"

His gaze cleared. "Rest assured, Rogue, I would not ask you to undergo any procedure that would put you at risk. For now, simply know that it is a possibility. I'll let you know more as soon as I do."

Rogue shrugged lightly, as if the word 'possibilty' hadn't sent her stomach into freefall. "Ah think Ah'd like to go get ready, then... if that's okay?"

He smiled and nodded to the door. "Of course."

Rogue changed quickly in her room and hurried down the stairs, her grad gown tucked over one arm and the cap smashed against her chest. She tried to muster a little excitement – it was her graduation, after all – and found she didn't have much to work with. Every time she tried to convince herself she was excited, she thought of Irene, or Carol, or Logan. In some ways, thinking about Logan hurt the most. She knew he was gone on the Professor's say-so, and he'd promised to be back. It didn't make his absence any easier.

Sick of thinking, she soared through the lower levels to clear her mind. It was a challenge to maneuver in such a small space, and she found herself making a game out of it as she flew through the narrow hallways. It was nothing like the open sky, but in a pinch it wasn't a bad replacement.

The doors to the Med Bay hissed open, announcing her arrival. Two pairs of eyes – one bright blue and the other burning red – caught hers, so she smiled crookedly and shrugged. "Ah got done early with the Professor."

Remy grinned at her before wincing at something Dr. McCoy was doing.

"Just in time, too. De good doctor is tryin' t' kill me," he groaned good-naturedly. He was dressed up as well, wearing dark pants and a shirt that looked like it would slide smoothly through her fingertips. At the moment, the sleeves and cuffs of his pants were rolled up and his shirt was twisted at an odd angle, but somehow he still managed to look devilishly handsome. Rogue forced a neutral expression.

"Is that so?"

Dr. McCoy smiled at her, brandishing a pint of blood and two vials, presumably with something important in them. They looked empty to Rogue. "All for the sake of Mr. LeBeau's continued recovery, my dear." He directed an exasperated look at Remy. "You'd think it was fatal, given the rather Shakespearean theatrics I've had a front-row seat for."

"Only 'cause Rogue wouldn't feel bad f' me otherwise," he retorted. He leaned back and closed his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. "Ain't dat so, _chèrie_?"

"Yah don't look like you're in too much pain there, Cajun."

"Just puttin' on a brave face f' you." He opened his eyes and ran an appreciative gaze over her attire. "Busy day?"

"You have no idea." Rogue dumped her gown and cap on the adjacent bed. "You sound cheerful. Are yah mobile again or somethin'?" It seemed doubtful. The brace and dressing were gone, but their absence revealed purple, painful-looking scars and deteriorated muscle.

Remy saw her looking and rolled down the cuff with his free hand. "Dat's de word on de street." Dr. McCoy returned, holding a bottle of pills in one hand. "Am I all set _docteur_?"

The doctor nodded and tossed Remy the bottle, which he caught in a quick, one-handed twitch of the wrist. "You're finished for now. I'm going to get your blood work and cell counts into the lab later tonight. I'll let you know what I find." He moved into the back, his expression troubled. "And remember, _light_ activity," he warned over his shoulder. "You'll be back on crutches if you push yourself too fast."

Remy stood carefully and set the bottle on the table. His leg throbbed, but seemed steady enough. He took a tentative step and grinned at Rogue, who smiled despite herself. "S' a miracle, _non_?"

She rolled her eyes and stood, smoothing her dress. The dark fabric – a green so deep it was almost black – made a soft sound as her gloves rubbed against it. "It's almost six," she noted. "We should probably head upstairs. Are yah ready?"

"Don't I look ready?" He made to throw his arms out and ended up using them to catch himself. Rogue hid a small smile as he fought to get his balance. "Not nice, _chère_."

"Did Ah ever claim ta be? Yah look good, by the way." She blushed lightly as she said it.

"You too." He had never seen her dressed up before. It suited her. Maybe not as well as her frayed jeans and heavy eyeliner, but it was something he could get used to. Though, he amended regretfully, it was doubtful she would ever wear something like this again. "_Très__ belle, non_?"

Despite the way his French flowed – slow and thick as the bayou he'd been raised in – she was getting to the point where she could understand it without much of a problem. "Is there a right answer ta that?"

"_Oui_," he decided for her. "Y' look nice, _chère_."

Rogue huffed a sigh to cover her embarrassment and punched a button to close the elevator doors. "Whatever yah say, Cajun."

"You're a hard one t' please, Mississippi."

"Ah do mah best." She smiled over one shoulder, ducking her head. "And thanks. Yah know, about the dress."

"I do my best," he grinned, and he followed her to the living room.

XxXxXxX

In all honesty, it was Rogue's fault they were celebrating in the first place. She should have known that after her flat-out refusal to go to senior prom, Kitty would find a way to retaliate.

Admittedly, her roommate had been doing a credible job of keeping things reasonable. Rogue hadn't even needed to bring in one of the teachers for a lecture about budgeting. But mid-May, Kitty found out she was going home for the summer – and from there everything had spiraled out of control.

Hours of pleading and conniving later, the five-star bistro in NYC was a nice restaurant within city limits, and the party afterward was limited to opening presents in the living room. It was still more attention than she'd ever wanted. Rogue fiddled with her food, trying to keep her gaze from wandering to the doors. _He promised_.

"Rogue, aren't you hungry?" Kurt brandished his own plate, which was nearly empty. "It's really good."

"Ah can see that." She forced a smile and picked at her own dinner. "Leftover nerves?"

"Ha! You're never nervous – not about stuff like this, anyvay." He grinned and began to chuckle. "At least you didn't trip across the stage like Taryn's little brother. I vas vorried, vith those crazy shoes you have on."

"They're Jean's."

"They're _Prada_," Kitty interjected wistfully from across the table. "I wish my feet were her size."

"They'd never get yah out of her closet."

"Vait, vhat is Prada?"

Kitty made a face. "Oh ew, Kurt. Would you please quit talking with your mouth full? And it's a brand of shoes. _The_ brand of shoes, actually."

"Oh," Kurt said, clearly not getting it. "Okay."

"It's all right," Rogue assured him dryly, "Ah don't understand either."

"You two are hopeless!"

Remy watched the exchange from a few seats down. Having unintentionally sat with Scott and Jean on his left, and the Professor on his right, he was surrounded by conversation but not actively part of it. He didn't mind the lack of attention. It made it easier for him to focus further down the table, where Rogue was sandwiched between Kitty and Kurt. Her expression – a sort of forced cheerfulness – had not changed since getting her diploma. He had seen her eyes searching though, watching for the face that never arrived. Even now she glanced over her shoulder every few minutes, toying restlessly with the scarf around her neck.

"How's your dinner, Remy?" Jean asked, drawing herself out of a conversation with the Professor. "You haven't eaten much."

He glanced down at his plate. He hadn't been accused of _that_ in awhile. "I guess m' attention was somewhere else, Jeanette."

Jean smiled. "Just make sure no one steals it out from under your nose. With those guys," she said, nodding toward Bobby, Ray, and Roberto, "it's been known to happen."

He winked at her. "I'll guard it wit' my life."

"I don't think he's got anything to worry about," Scott commented dryly, "given what he does for a living."

It probably wasn't meant to offend, but Remy felt himself stiffen anyway. He was proud of being a Thief, and he didn't appreciate the implication in Cyclops' tone. "What I did, y' mean."

Scott glanced over, his expression unreadable. "Sure. Did."

The tension at the table suddenly became palpable. Jean nudged her boyfriend's shoulder and smiled brightly. "Scott, behave," she scolded. "Sorry, Remy. He's just curious and doesn't know how to be polite about it."

Scott raised his brows in her direction, and Remy got the distinct feeling Jean was doing quite a bit of editing. Cyclops was curious, his foot.

"Don't worry about it, _homme_." Remy glanced down the table again. Rogue had her chin cradled in her palms and was staring morosely at her full plate. "Wasn't Wolverine supposed t' be back by now?" he asked, as if he couldn't guess the answer.

Jean nodded. "Yeah. It's normal for him to be gone longer than he says, though."

"Is it now," he mused, turning back to his food. He somehow doubted the same logic applied to Rogue. Wolverine treated her differently. He wasn't sure what the nature of their relationship was, but it ran deeper than gruff affection and mutual respect. The idea nagged at him through the rest of the meal, and he realized as the others began leaving that his plate was still mostly full.

He caught up with Rogue as everyone was meandering out to the cars. She was purposely alone, lagging behind the younger mutants and far ahead of Jean and Scott, who were too wrapped up in each other to take much notice of anyone else.

"Hey _chère_."

"Hey," she replied shortly. She barely looked at him.

"Something wrong?"

She glared at him, because it was easier than trying to explain. "Nope. Why?"

He shrugged. "Y' seem a little off."

"Well Ah'm not. Ah'm fahne. Ah'm great. It's mah graduation, isn't it?" She paused to wait for him, to make sure he wasn't limping too badly. "You doin' okay?"

He grimaced. "Yep."

"Liar."

"Takes one t' know one." He saw her body tense and relax in one quick motion, and he knew he'd unintentionally hit a nerve. "Relax, Rogue. I'm just teasin' you." _Mostly_.

She shrugged, wrapping her arms around her waist like she was warding off a chill. "Let's just go home, okay?" She looked away from him, her eyes glossy. "Ah'm – Ah'm gettin' tired of all this."

"_Eh bien, chère_. Whatever y' say."

XxXxXxX

Remy woke up with a jolt. He was anxious, upset; his heart was hammering in his chest. It took him a while to realize the feelings weren't his, not by a long shot.

He eased himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The same sort of thing had been happening more and more lately. It'd started with charming Rogue into a kiss – something he couldn't make himself regret – but it had gone beyond that. A week ago he'd known Jean was at the end of her rope long before she started yelling at Cyclops. Before that, he'd realized Sam was homesick without the other boy saying a word.

He frowned. It was one thing to be charismatic, to be a good liar. It was another thing to be some kind of psychic.

Unsettled, he slipped out of the room and limped down the hall, feeling the ungainliness of the motion more than the pain that throbbed deep in the bone. He wasn't used to being off-balance.

Remy made his way to the kitchen. He had a pretty good idea of who would be awake and upset in the middle of the night, and the kitchen was Rogue's usual refuge. At least, it was when she didn't immediately fly up to the mansion's roof. He considered the idea and immediately discarded it. As tempting as it was to test himself, there was no way he was getting up there.

Sure enough, when he stopped in the doorway there was light spilling from the open refrigerator. The soft glow illuminated a gloved hand curved around the door handle and a pair of feet graced with wine-red toenails.

"Midnight snack?"

Rogue peeked over the top and shrugged. "It's closer ta two, actually."

He hauled himself onto the counter and watched her search the contents of the fridge before she moved on to the freezer. "I heard Beast's got some cookie dough ice cream stashed away in dere."

She checked and pulled out a nearly full tub. "Looks like he won't mind sharin'." She pulled out two bowls and began dishing up her own. "Yah want?"

"Not dat your company isn't sweet as it is–"

She rolled her eyes. "You tryin' ta butter me up Cajun? Do yah want any or not?"

"Why _chère_," he drawled, grinning, "I won't tell if you don't."

There was a split-second pause. "Good God. _Remy_. Ah meant about the ice cream."

"Of course you did, Mississippi. An' for future reference, m' more of a whipped cream kinda guy."

Rogue shoved his bowl at him. "You're disgusting is what you are."

"S' too early t' be polite." He followed Rogue outside. The night was cool, but not unbearable like it was in the spring. He took a seat on the steps. "Nice night."

"Don't bother."

Remy shrugged, undaunted, and decided it was probably for the best to let her settle. Dealing with a moody Rogue at two in the morning wasn't an easy job, and it was best handled on a full stomach.

They ate in silence. Rogue breathed in summer – the dewy smell of the grass and the heaviness of the air – and let the ice cream melt on her tongue. She savored the feeling, watching purple clouds roll over the moon, and tried to convince herself Logan's absence didn't feel like a lead weight in her stomach.

She turned to Remy abruptly, trying to control the desperation in her voice. "He woulda come if he coulda," she said fiercely, daring him to contradict her.

"_Mais oui, chère_."

Rogue bit her lip, unsure if she was trying to convince Remy or herself. "Ah just wish he'd been there."

"_Je sais_." He rubbed his thumb around the rim of his bowl, his gaze distant.

Rogue clenched her jaw, annoyed for no real reason. Something about his expression, which seemed too far away for him to possibly know, or even care, what she was talking about. "Are yah listenin' ta me?"

He looked at her blankly. "Of course, _chère_. _Mais_, dere's not much I can say. Not really one for platitudes." He reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She flinched away on reflex, but he had learned to expect that. "M' sorry he's gone. I know it woulda meant a lot t' you."

She stayed silent, staring at her ice cream. It was melting. "But why would he say that an' then not show up? He's been gone for more than a month now."

"I dunno. Mebbe he ran into trouble."

"This is Wolverine we're talkin' about," she replied with a snort. "He _is_ the trouble."

"True 'nough." The silence stretched, neither comfortable nor awkward. It was too early for either, in Remy's opinion. He turned his gaze to the starless sky and sat back on his palms. "Try not t' worry about it, _chère_. Wolverine can take care of himself, and when he gets back you just give him de biggest puppy-dog eyes ever and ask for whatever y' damn well please. Me, I'd go with a trip t' Cancun."

Rogue smirked faintly. "You suggestin' Ah milk it for all it's worth? Sounds a bit low."

He shrugged, grinning. "Y' are talkin' to a Thief. S'all about perspective." When she remained silent, the smirk fading into a sullen frown, he sighed. "Let's talk about something else."

"What?"

He fiddled with his spoon, weighing the consequences of his next words. He said them before he could take them back – "Ask me a question."

As intentioned, she perked up immediately. "Are there rules?"

"Not really," he answered guardedly. Rogue was morbidly curious about his past – too much so for any level of comfort. "I'll answer if I can."

She contemplated that. "So family's off-limits?"

His appetite disappeared, curling in on itself. He felt his expression harden before he could stop it. "No, s' not. Can't promise a fun conversation, though."

Acceptance chased most of the frustration from her features. "Ah can understand that, Ah guess." She thought a little longer, drumming her gloved fingertips against her knee in a dull tattoo. "Are you gonna get mad?"

"Why would I?"

"Because it's kinda dumb," she explained, shooting him a self-conscious look.

The start of a smile tugged at his lips, even as his muscles relaxed with relief – if she was embarrassed, it couldn't be too bad. "Shoot."

Rogue looked at him out of the corners of her eyes, her expression sobering. "Why are yah here?"

"Here?"

"_Ici_," she clarified.

He shot her a look of mild surprise. "French sounds better."

"It was one word," she said disdainfully, "an' quit avoidin' the question."

"I'm not avoiding it. M' here for a lotta reasons, I guess," he said, shrugging. "It's convenient. De Professor asked me to. I ain' got anywhere else t' be. Dere one in particular you were lookin' for?"

Rogue let the spoon drop into her dish with a clatter. "Ah guess not."

Remy stood and she followed, gathering both bowls so he would have his hands free for balance. If he noticed she was letting him set the pace as they slipped in the front doors, he said nothing.

In the kitchen, she put the bowls in the sink to soak and tried to sort through the odd tangle of emotions battling in her chest. There was hurt, and confusion, and something bitter that left a strange taste on her tongue.

"_Chère_." Remy was leaning against the island, his arms crossed. She turned reluctantly. With a wince, he crossed the kitchen and caught her gently by the arms. His eyes were warm, dancing with understanding and suppressed amusement. "I'm here 'cause I wanna be. Is dat okay with you?"

She bit back a smile and felt it leak around her teeth. "Ah guess so."

Remy shook his head and let her go. He was smiling too. "You guess so. _Dieu, chère_. You ain' nothin' but trouble."

"But not borin'."

His grin widened. "_Ouais_. Life with you is anything but dull, _chère_."

He followed her as quietly as he could back to her room. When Rogue slipped through the door, Kitty was asleep in a mound of blankets, unaware that her roommate had ever left.

"You're goin' back ta bed, right?" she asked in a whisper, turning to face him. He stood in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame.

"S' two in de morning," he whispered back, bemused. "Unless y' had something in mind t' keep us busy...?"

"'Night, Remy." She paused. He seemed so insubstantial in the half-darkness, like a single breath could make him disappear. "Ah'll see yah in the mornin'?"

"'Course. Where else would I be?" That seemed to be enough. She nodded unsteadily and disappeared into her closet.

Remy was turning to leave when a thought struck him. After a moment's hesitation, he pulled a card off the top of his deck and wedged it against the frame of the mirror on her bureau. He didn't need to look to know which one it was, but he did anyway. The King of Hearts – the Suicide King – grimaced at him, faintly mocking. _Celle-ci, eh?_

Since Remy didn't know the answer to that any more than the playing card did, he slipped out and closed the door behind him.


End file.
